Chapter 2: WhatsApp Status No Dey Lie

When I see news of Tani Yewande divorce for WhatsApp Status, I know say me and Olumide Fashola story don finish.

The day start like every other—lazy Saturday, generator dey hum, distant shout of 'up NEPA!' mix with smell of fried dodo from neighbour window. I dey scroll my phone, hairnet still dey head. The update flash for my phone, my heart jump like when NEPA take light for night. You know that kain sign wey your spirit go just whisper, 'Omo, wahala dey.'

Of course, e no be just me—everybody clock am.

Even Sade drop voice note: 'Babe, you don see am? E be like say Olumide own don enter one chance.' I know wetin she mean. Some gist no need explanation.

Plenty comments dey under post: friends, old classmates, business partners of Olumide Fashola.

Dem no even hide mouth—emojis full everywhere. Some drop side-eye, some drop crying face, as if dem dey watch Nollywood film. The names make sense—Chuka from university, Madam Bisola from cooperative, even Baba Alayo for mosque.

Dem write:

"Yewande, congrats on being single again! When you dey come back?"

One person drop, 'We dey wait for comeback gist.' I fit hear dem dey cackle behind phone.

"Yes now, person don dey wait for you tey tey."

Another wrote, 'Abi dem suppose do welcome party?' The pain real, but na truth—people no dey hide mouth for Naija.

Dem always keep distance from me.

Anytime I follow Olumide go party, na 'Madam' greeting, but dem no dey carry me enter. Their joke go stop once I show, some go find urgent call escape. You go just know say you dey outside.

Even when glass dey clink and cheer, I feel like person outside window, dey look in. Sometimes, their whisper sting, but I just adjust my wrapper, pretend say I no hear. Only Mama Kofo, their old cook, dey try gist me: 'My dear, just dey endure. Na so dem be.'

Sometimes, when our eyes jam, I dey see am—the regret for their eye, sharp. Dem go shift face, adjust shirt, check wristwatch, but truth dey show. For Naija, mouth dey hide, but eye? E no dey lie.

True talk. For film and story, who no like see fine man and woman end together? Real life too get regret.

Even Ifeoma, my cousin, once talk, 'Na only Nollywood dey give happy ending. Here, na story for gutter we dey get.'

Olumide and Tani be that perfect pair.

Dem be prayer point couple: 'God, give me better husband and wife like them.' Their own be like story wey dem write from birth.

Dem grow up together, go school together, fall in love natural. Everybody sure say dem go marry—if no be say Tani marry another person first.

Their gist full everywhere: Sunday school, university campus, NYSC camp for Kaduna. Everybody dey expect their wedding go be event of the year, till Yewande travel go London, come back with another surname.

I see their photo for him mama house before. The babe fine, skin yellow like new yam, stand gentle for him side, eye dey laugh. Anybody wey see am go talk say dem fit each other well.

I remember frame for side table—her gele high, her eye dey shine. The way she hold him arm soft, like person wey sure for her place. For one moment, I feel small for parlour, like say I dey borrow another woman chair.

Him mama sigh. "I no even know wetin Yewande dey think, go abroad, marry another person. Eya, Olumide..."

She stop, but I catch her meaning: eya, Olumide lose him true love, confusion make am marry me.

Sometimes, she dey look me, eye soft but sad, like she wan talk sorry. I go smile, help her adjust scarf, pretend say I no notice the heavy for air.

For am, she be woman from the past—wound wey heal but leave scar. He no dey talk about her, no pain am again. But if memory show, e go just make am quiet.

One evening, after long day, I see am by window, eye lost for far. I no disturb. Sometimes, na silence dey answer pass.

People don see as he fight for her, jealous, sad, then all the fire die. Even best palm wine dey finish last last.

So, when dem look me and Olumide, something always dey miss.

Our laughter no deep, our eye no dey hold each other too long. I know, and I think say he know too.

But Olumide no treat me bad o.

He dey do all the right thing. Anywhere we go, he dey give me respect wey Mrs. Fashola suppose get.

He go open car door, pull chair for party, greet my mama well for Christmas. Even if we quarrel, he no dey raise voice or insult. Outside, we be perfect picture.

If we go him family chop, after food, he go hold my hand, stroll for compound. If I twist ankle, he go squat, turn back give me—under moonlight, he dey gentle small.

Neighbours dey peep curtain, whisper, 'See as oga dey pet madam.' But inside, I know say him gentleness na duty, no be passion.

He go click tongue. "Climb on."

He carry me piggyback once for muddy compound after rain, both of us laugh—maybe na the only true laughter we share. I remember him cologne mix with harmattan dust that night.

If I dey work late, he go bring malt, lean for wall, tap finger for table. "Quick drink am. I still need wash cup."

He check if I chop, push jollof plate near me, mutter, 'No go collapse for office, o.' Sometimes, he go join, dey read paper, just dey keep me company.

He no dey lose composure. Anything he dey do, he dey calm.

Even when NEPA take light, gen no gree start, he no go vex or curse. He go light candle, sit with me, hold silence.

For bed, even when eye don red, he just smile, call my name with that cold, distant voice.

Him hand soft, like person dey handle breakable plate—never too close. He pause, look my eye, for one second, I go think maybe he want more, but the moment go waka like water slip hand.

"Morayo."

My name from him mouth sound different. Like reminder say I no be her.

"Make we just dey like this, abeg."

First time he talk am, my heart squeeze. I nod, but I wish for more. Maybe one day.

His first love don marry another, he marry me. So he tell me, make we just dey like this.

We share one bed, two separate hearts. I accept my role, as the ache grow quiet inside.